


Tell Me Again

by todisturbtheuniverse



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Storytelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 06:38:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2014851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/todisturbtheuniverse/pseuds/todisturbtheuniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are a few versions of what happened in Orlais, but there’s one Varric likes best. Written and posted pre-Inquisition release.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me Again

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by jiamekare on Tumblr: Varric's adventures at the fancy Orleisian ball we're apparently headed to in Inquisition.

It could have been worse, Cassandra thought, but not by much.

Her shoulder still ached from the fallout; it had been dislocated. She hadn’t been able to hold her shield for a day, now. It stayed strapped to her back—useless. At least her sword was still at her disposal, and she needed it. She did not trust that some petty, angry noble had not followed them back to their stronghold.

More importantly, she didn’t trust that some petty, angry noble had sent a vastly more competent assassin to slay the Inquisitor while she was wounded. And she  _was_ wounded. Badly. She hadn’t woken in a day, and though Solas insisted she would be fine, Cassandra did not quite believe him.

Cadash had stood, so fierce, against such onslaughts before—but Cassandra had seen her fall, a look of utter surprise on her face, when the spell struck her. The dread had not left her stomach since.

Worse still was Varric, who had not left the Inquisitor’s side since they arrived at the stronghold. Cassandra did not believe that he’d slept; she could hear his voice, pushing forward with hoarse tenacity, just on the other side of the door she guarded.

It felt a bit like eavesdropping, but she couldn’t  _not_ listen. There were stories she had heard before—stories he’d once told her in an interrogation room—but without his old arrogance, they were very different tales. Stories of loss rather than adventure; stories of regret rather than pride. She could hear, so clearly, how much he missed Kirkwall. The  _time_ , not the place.

Inside, he cleared his throat. A little warmth crept back into his voice. “There were capable warriors in the Inquisition,” he said. “Powerful mages. Sly rogues with quick fingers. As it happened, those were the only kind that blended in at a fancy Orlesian ball. They’d spent their lives learning how to go unnoticed.

"The Orlesians played a dangerous game. It was madness to try to infiltrate it, but the Inquisitor insisted that they had to try." He paused, chuckled. "I told her as much, but she didn’t make a habit of listening to my sage advice.

"It was almost worth it, though. The Orlesians, they’re a snobby bunch, but they know how to throw a party. The ballroom glittered with wealth—with all the newest fashions, all the priciest gems, all the best wine, paired with exactly the right cheese. I can never tell, myself, but the Inquisitor insisted that it was glorious. I think all those nights in The Hanged Man may have killed my taste buds. But the wine  _was_ good. Smooth and bitter.

"Nothing compared to the company, though—hilarious, watching them try to fit in with the noble folk. The Seeker was the worst, standing stiff in the corner in that gown of hers, like her sword would be in arm’s reach if she just pretended hard enough."

It had been. She’d worn no gown; they could not risk all of them being there unarmored. She had passed through on the pretense of being with the security complement for the evening—but they had still been noticed.

"Solas made the mistake of trying to chat with the servants," Varric went on. "The looks on their faces—they might have been more scandalized than the nobles."

They had been. Cassandra could remember the blind panic twisting their features, the confusion. An elf wearing finery and trying to converse with them—it was a mess of broken convention.

"But the Inquisitor? She fit right in. Oh, sure, she was a little on the short side, but you’d never know that she makes her living killing people with a heavy metal stick. That dress…" He chuckled. "I like her just fine in armor, I’ll have you know. She’s glorious on the field. But she was glorious there, too, chatting up all these holier-than-thou Orlesians, wheedling and bargaining. Couldn’t even tell that she still had knives hidden under all that fabric. I knew they were there, though."

For all the good it had done.

"Strictly speaking, I don’t dance, but you don’t exactly turn a woman like that down." He cleared his throat. "Even if she  _is_ clumsy.”

Cassandra shifted, straining to her better. It was a mark of his storytelling capabilities that she waited with baited breath to hear what he’d made up—for this had not occurred on that night. She had seen Cadash turn, a smile on her lips, to say something to Varric—something that actually turned him  _red_ —but that was when the attack had begun.

"I was going to tell her." She could hear the attempt at casual exasperation, but it was strained, cracks showing through the fairytale. "I was going to tell her she’d worn me down. I’d just gotten up the courage—beaten into me, more like, with her stepping all over my feet—but she just had to choose that moment to pick a fight."

He went quiet. Cassandra wanted to look in, but didn’t dare. She could imagine the scene well enough for herself: his elbows propped on her bed, her limp hand clasped between his, his eyes fixed on her still face.

A reedy chuckle drifted through the door—not Varric’s. “I like your version better,” Cadash rasped.

Varric sighed, a long billow of relief. “You’ve been awake this whole time.”

"Only a few minutes. I missed the beginning." The bed creaked, and Cassandra imagined the Inquisitor turning onto her side, smiling up at Varric. "Tell me again?"

Shaking her head, Cassandra abandoned her post to fetch water. Varric was too busy weaving the tale anew, and for once, she didn’t feel like interrupting him.


End file.
